My Billionaire Protector

by R. R. Banks

  “Honestly, I can't give you a reason why you should,” he says. “Not a valid one. Not the kind of answer you deserve. I'm simply hoping that you can find it in your heart to hear me out. And like I said, after you listen to what I have to say, if you still tell me to fuck off, I'll never bother you again. I swear it.”

  I let out a long breath and look at the crowd around us. Everybody is busy laughing and talking to one another, as if our little melodrama had never happened. That's the one thing I love about New York – people know how to take things in stride and move on quickly. I turn back to Carter and feel my heart stutter drunkenly inside of me. He's as beautiful today as he was ten years ago. He's so beautiful it hurts.

  I open my mouth, my mind fixed and focused, ready to tell him to get lost, that he can't undo the past. I have a snark, bitter, and biting comment all queued up and ready to go. But, when I hear the words that actually pass my lips, I cringe outwardly – and then mentally kick myself repeatedly.

  “Fine,” I say. “Let's go.”

  Carter lets out a breath and gives me a small, grateful smile. “Thank you, Darby,” he says. “All this time –”

  “Shut up,” I say, angry at myself. “I promised to hear you out. Nothing more. Now, let's go get this over with.”

  He gives me a little wink and puts his hand on the small of my back, guiding me through the crowd. I reach back and slap his hand away, drawing a soft chuckle from him. He grabs a couple of glasses of wine as we pass by a waiter carrying a tray, and gestures to some doors near the rear of the hall.

  “Through there,” he says.

  He leads me through the doors and down a long corridor to another set of doors. We pass through them, stepping out onto a small patio in an enclosed garden. There's a slight chill in the air and I shudder, though I don't know how much of it is from the cold. Fall is definitely in the air, and New York is inching its way toward winter, but it's not too horrible. Not just yet. Carter sets the glasses down on a small table near a bench and takes off his jacket, draping it around my shoulders.

  “Thank you,” I say softly.

  “Please,” he says. “Sit.”

  I take a seat and he hands me one of the glasses of wine. I accept it with a small nod of thanks, and take a sip, needing a little extra fortification for this exchange. I expected Carter to sit down next to me, but he carries his glass, pacing back and forth in front of me, instead. If I didn't know better, I would say he's nervous. But, the Carter I knew was never nervous. That Carter was always confident and full of bravado – or just bluster.

  He stops pacing and turns to me. Carter stands before me, holding his glass of wine, his other hand in his pocket, a look of uncertainty on his face. It's as close to vulnerable as I've ever seen Carter before and I feel my heart going out to him – something I quickly and ruthlessly stamp out. Not only does he not deserve my pity, I can't afford to be weak right now. Carter is like an apex predator, and if he smells weakness, he'll pounce.

  “I've thought about this moment for a long time,” he says, a sheepish grin on his face. “I used to have a speech all memorized and rehearsed and everything.”

  “What happened to it?”

  He shrugs. “Thinking about it now, it seems trite and insincere,” he says. “You deserve better.”

  “Yeah, I do, Carter,” I snap. “I certainly deserve a lot better than getting ghosted too.”

  “Yes,” he says, his voice barely more than a whisper. “Yes, you do.”

  “What the hell happened back then, Carter?” I ask. “Why did you vanish like that? No call, no message, no, 'hey, go fuck yourself, Darby.' Nothing at all. I thought things were going great between us, and then I woke up one day, and it was like you fell off the face of the earth.”

  He lets out a long breath. “It's complicated,” he says. “Or, at least, it was.”

  “That's bullshit,” I say and start to get to my feet.

  “Wait,” he says. “Please. Give me a chance to explain.”

  I blow out a frustrated breath and glance at my watch. “You have two minutes.”

  He gives me a crooked grin. “It might take a bit longer than that.”

  “A minute forty-five,” I say.

  “Look, Darby,” he says. “I'm sorry I bailed on you like that. I know I hurt you.”

  “Yeah, you did,” I snap. “You have no idea how bad you hurt me, Carter.”

  “You're right, I don't know,” he says. “Believe me though, it was nothing you did, or –”

  “Yeah, that's great,” I say. “It's also easy for you to say now. Doesn't change all the time I spent beating myself up, thinking otherwise.”

  “I'm sorry, Darby,” he says. “I truly am. If I could take all that hurt onto myself, I would. In a heartbeat.”

  “Yeah, well, you can't,” I say. “It'd be nice if you got a taste of the hurt you caused me, but it isn’t possible.”

  I lean back against the back of the bench and take a long drink of my wine, willing the tears in my eyes to not fall. He doesn't deserve them. What he does deserve, however, is my bitterness and anger. And that's all I plan to give him.

  “Not that it compares in any way, but it wasn't easy for me either, Darby,” he says softly. “Please believe me when I say, you weren't the only one who was hurting.”

  I scoff. “You're the one who left.”

  He lets out a long breath and looks away from me. “You're right. There’s no excuse for that.”

  “Why'd you do it, Carter?” I ask. “All these years, I only ever wanted an answer to that question. Why did you run out on me like that?”

  He starts pacing again and his demeanor changes. It's clear to see he's agitated and upset. About what, I have no idea. But, it's something, that to my eye, looks like it has bothered and weighed on him for years.

  “What is it, Carter?” I ask.

  He runs a hand through his hair and turns back to me once more. Gone is the smile and the playful twinkle in his eye. His expression is grim, his jaw clenched. It's as if he's been debating whether or not to tell me, and has come to a decision – even though he knows I won’t like it.

  “Your brother paid me a visit,” he says. “Back then. After we'd been seeing each other a little while. He randomly showed up at my apartment one night.”

  Suddenly, I have a feeling I know where this is going. Back then, Mason was arrogant – so arrogant, he thought he could control my life. Thought he knew what I wanted and needed better than I did. Thought he knew what was best.

  Asshole.

  “He told me that if I didn't stop seeing you, he was going to use his leverage with the cops...”

  His voice trails off and he looks away again, an expression of fury and uncertainty written upon his face. I can see that he's frustrated and has been that way for a long time.

  I have no idea what Mason held over him, but it’s clear to me, that even ten years later, Carter's rage is still as fresh as the day my brother threatened him.

  “Use his leverage to do what, Carter?” I prompt.

  He paces in front of me again, his hand deep in his pockets, his other hand holding his wine glass so tights, I'm afraid he's going to shatter it, a scowl etched deep upon his face. As furious as I am with him, I hate to see him in such obvious pain and distress over something my brother did.

  “It's okay, Carter,” I say. “You can tell me.”

  He stops pacing and turns to me. The pain in his eyes is plain as day, but it disappears after a few seconds.

  “Mason told me that he was going to have the cops and the DA go after Pops if I kept seeing you. Said he'd use his position as an attorney to fuck with Pops,” he finally says. “Told me he'd be pin some unsolved murders on him.”

  “Murders?” I ask, feeling my blood begin to turn to ice as fear ripples through me. “Did Pops actually kill somebody?”

  Carter shakes his head. “No, of course not,” he says. “I mean, I don't think so, no.”

  “You don't think
so?'

  He growls, clearly growing more frustrated. “I mean, it's not something we’ve ever sat down and talked about,” he says. “All I know is that whatever Pops did in the past, he’s atoned for it ten times over. He's a good man. The best man I know.”

  “So, you traded me for Pops,” I say.

  I know how unfair it is for me to say that, but I'm still hurting, and want to stick it to him anyway. Petty? Definitely. But, right now, I'm feeling pretty vindictive.

  “It's not like that, Darby,” he says. “Your brother gave me no choice. I wanted to be with you – you have no idea how badly it killed me every fucking day to not be able to see you. But, I couldn't let Mason railroad Pops into prison for something he didn't do. Pops was – is – like a father to me. The only person, besides you, to ever see anything good in me. Anything worth growing and nurturing. Only other person who thought I'd amount to anything at all.”

  I sit back and let out a long breath. I'd like to say I'm surprised to learn Mason is the reason behind what happened, but I'm not. I've always known he was capable of some shady, underhanded shit, but this elevates things to a whole new level. Even for him. The depths he would stoop to, just to control me, never fails to amaze me.

  As pissed as I am at Mason for interfering in our relationship like that, I still can't let go of my anger toward Carter. Can't see my way past the pain. He'd made a conscious decision. There were other ways he could have handled it. Maybe, gone to the cops himself. Talked to Pops and gotten the whole story. He could have done a lot of things, but didn't. In the end, he'd walked away from me over a threat that, for all he knew, wasn't even legitimate.

  “Probably didn't do,” I say. “You sacrificed our relationship and threw away the feelings we had for each other, for a potential killer.”

  Carter's face hardens and a dark shadow passes through his eyes. “I know that Pops isn't a killer, Darby,” he says, his voice low. “He's the best man I've ever known. I wouldn't be where I am today if it wasn’t for him.”

  We stare at each other in silence for a few moments, the tension between us almost tangible.

  “Is there anything else?” I ask. “Anything else you wanted to get off your chest?”

  He recoils like I just slapped him, and I see something fill his eyes – pain. Good. I want him to hurt like I did.

  “Did you really think it was going to be that easy, Carter?” I ask. “That you say you're sorry, tell me it was my brother's fault, and we just pick up where we left off ten years ago?”

  “To be honest, I was sort of hoping that –”

  “Yeah,” I say. “You don't even know the first thing about me. You don't even know if I'm involved with anybody right now. For all you know, I could be married and have ten kids.”

  That cocky little smirk touches his lips. “You're too young to have ten kids.”

  “Shut up,” I say. “That's not the point. The point is –”

  “Are you?” he asks. “Married? Involved with somebody?”

  I let out a frustrated breath and stare at him. Carter’s arrogance is still astounding. That he thinks he just can waltz into my life – ten years after destroying it – and start over like nothing ever happened is beyond maddening. Honestly, it makes me want to slap him.

  “That's not your business, Carter,” I say. “Not anymore. We had a good thing going, but you ruined it. And you aren't getting a second bite at the apple. Not after what you did. I can't.”

  “Darby, please,” he says. “I'm just trying to make this right.”

  I get to my feet and take his coat off my shoulders, dropping it on the bench behind me. I stand before him, lifting my chin defiantly, and summon all the strength and attitude I can manage.

  “Some things can't be made right, Carter,” I bitterly state. “You don't get a second bite at an apple you tossed away and left to rot.”

  “Darby, I –”

  “No,” I snap. “I've moved on. I think you should too.”

  I walk off the patio and make my way back to the main gallery room, where I'm assaulted by a wave of a rambunctious Christmas tune played by the string quartet. I want to say it's Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, but my head is so full of thoughts right now, I can't be sure.

  I walk through the gallery, and head for the coat check, quickly gathering my things, my evening ruined. That's just another log on the bonfire of anger I have burning inside of me. I've wanted to attend this damn gala for years, and when I finally get the chance, Carter rises up like a malevolent spirit to suck all of the joy and life out of the evening. It's really not fair.

  Then I think about how I got to the gala in the first place, and my mind drifts back to my brother. Mason. It's because of him that I'm here. And apparently, it's also his fault that I'm here spiritually and emotionally in regard to Carter.

  As I stand at the curb and flag a cab, I can't seem to push the image of Carter's face out of my mind. When I left, he looked so lost – like he was wounded beyond comprehension.

  I think he actually believed we would just patch things up and move forward. From personal experience, I know that Carter’s a force of nature, and not used to hearing the word, “no.” He always got what he wanted. Always.

  So, to be able to shoot him down like that, and leave him in a pile of burning emotional rubble, was more than a little bit satisfying. What can I say? I can be petty as hell.

  I'm not going to lie, a small part of me enjoys the fact that I'd scored a direct hit on Carter. That he got a small taste of how much he had hurt me. There's another part of me, though – the emotionally traitorous, and stupid side – that wants nothing more than to take him into my arms and soothe him. And yeah, pick up right where we left off.

  I've really moved on, huh?

  9

  Carter

  I lean back in my seat, staring out at Central Park beyond the window – but not really seeing it. I'm aware of the vibrant autumnal color of the trees, the slate gray sky overhead, but that's about it, really. My head is certainly not into working today. It's still preoccupied with Darby. Because, of course it is.

  I have zero fucking clue how I'm supposed to analyze the mountain of data on my desk when my head is wrapped up in her. I can't get her smile, her voice, and especially her sparking emerald eyes, out of my head. They're haunting me like a fucking ghost.

  It seemed so serendipitous to run into her at the gala. Though, given the fact that she's wealthy and an artist, maybe it shouldn't have been all that surprising. But, in all the years I've worked with the Ravere Group, and the Sheldonhurst Foundation in general, I've never seen her.

  I really thought I was being given a second chance with her. I really thought I had an opportunity to make things right. Ok, maybe it was slightly idiotic to think everything would be okay again, but, when I saw her there, I really wanted to believe it.

  And still, even after she told me to fuck off, I couldn’t let my heart and mind fully accept it. I know I have to. I just can't quite force myself to turn that corner. Not just yet. I don’t believe in fate – we create our own luck and opportunities in life – but it sure felt like there was some intervening hand putting us both in the same room, at the same time.

  “So, how was the gala?”

  I startle, spinning around in my chair quickly. Rupert’s sitting in the chair in front of my desk, a shit-eating grin on his face.

  “Jesus! I didn't even hear you come in. How long have you been sitting there, Rupert?”

  “Yeah, you seem a little preoccupied,” he says. “Or maybe, your ears are still ringing from getting verbally eviscerated by that cute redhead in the ballgown the other night.”

  I ran a hand through my hair, a rueful chuckle escaping me. “Heard about that, did you?”

  He's having a hard time controlling his laughter as he looks at me. His eyes are shining with tears from the effort. I lean back in my chair and shake my head.

  “Go ahead,” I say. “Get it all out.”

  An
d he does. Rupert laughs long and hard, doubling over with the effort. Finally, after what feels like forever, his laughter subsides. He sits up and takes a minute to catch his breath.

  “You good?” I ask.

  He chuckles a few more times and then nods. “Yeah, I think so.”

  “Good,” I say. “So, people are obviously talking about that, huh? Shit. I figured that was the least controversial thing to happen this weekend.”

  “Talking about it?” he asks, arching his eyebrows. “Hell, the tabloids are eating that shit up, man. Somebody got a video of it, and it's on YouTube right now, as we speak. It's trending pretty high on Twitter too. I'd avoid looking at the comments, if I were you.”

  I press my head back into my seat and stare up at the ceiling. “Wonderful,” I say. “Just fucking great. It's almost Christmas, shouldn't people be obsessing over that stupid shit, instead of this stupid shit?”

  “I think people can multi-task well enough, Carter,” he says. “Who doesn't have time for a quick, but hilarious video. I saw one, that was edited to include that 'Eye of the Tiger' song, and let me tell you –”

  “Can it,” I say. “Don't want to hear it. Or see it.”

  He shrugs. “Hey, look at it this way,” he says. “Like they always say, there's no bad publicity, right?”

  “Yeah, actually, there is,” I snap. “You sitting here, laughing your ass off about it, is proof enough.”

  “So, who was she?” he asks. “One of your one-night flings looking for a little payback?”

  “Hardly,” I say.

  “Somebody who didn't take kindly to your proposition?”

  “Strike two.”

  Rupert looks at me, the light of amusement in his eyes. He's enjoying this far too much. I may have to kill him.

  “So? Who was she?” he asks.

  I let out a long breath. “Darby,” I say, knowing that will tell him all he needs to know. “That was Darby.”